


Ready to Run

by honeycombkiss



Series: waited just to love you [3]
Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Closeted Character, Eddie Kaspbrak Has Anxiety, Eddie Kaspbrak Loves Richie Tozier, Emotional Hand Job, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Intricate Rituals, Losers Club (IT) Friendship, M/M, Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, Teenage Losers Club (IT), aged up characters (15/16 years old), except nobody moves away or forgets, post It (2017), sophomore year of high school, the drama and angst of teenage love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-16
Updated: 2019-11-24
Packaged: 2021-01-30 05:20:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21422833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honeycombkiss/pseuds/honeycombkiss
Summary: So maybe they fought. Maybe it wasn’t as simple and easy as the summer had been. But falling asleep with Eddie in his arms was a piece of their summer and their childhood. A piece of their history, and the promise of safety. It felt like everything Richie had always wanted; a friendship set on fire.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Series: waited just to love you [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1515326
Comments: 8
Kudos: 83





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Welcome to another story in my little series. I’m so happy you are here!
> 
> This story came to mind while I was listening to ‘Ready to Run’ by One Direction. I was contemplating how it felt to be in a similar situation to the one depicted in this series. How it feels to be so scared and anxious of being caught, but also so in love. How those two parts of yourself constantly battle one another. I hope this speaks true to that experience, and I hope that you enjoy it.
> 
> Also, they are teenagers and so they do engage in sexual activity. If that isn't your thing, don't read. I just think it unrealistic to imagine they wouldn't do anything of the sort.
> 
> This fic is dedicated to thesaurus.com. I ain't ever gonna stop loving you, bitch.
> 
> Songs to listen to while reading:  
1\. Ready to Run – One Direction (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eKLBiC-b3O0)  
2\. Lover – Taylor Swift feat. Shawn Mendes (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b5Zay_Hd_7Q)  
3\. Hey There, Lover! – Shark Puppy (https://goodnight-social-lite.tumblr.com/post/188970921276/sharkpuppyofficial-i-wrote)  
4\. Love Alone – Katelyn Tarver (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z7PkBh4uDW4)
> 
> Anyway, without further ado, here it is!

Early one August morning, in the back of an overheated Derry High classroom, Eddie and Richie sat side-by-side. Eddie’s thigh was pressed up against Richie’s. And it was the only thing Richie could think about. But as their teacher walked around the classroom, Eddie would pull away. It was the lack of Eddie’s touch that reminded Richie how comfortable and nice it felt to be touched at all. He would get too comfortable and warm by the press of their thighs against one another. It was then that Eddie would pull away again. His face gave nothing away, his features neutral. Richie tried to keep up, but it was a constant push and pull. It was all new; they hadn’t been a couple last school year. It was new, and it was everything Richie had ever dreamed about. Despite the secrets, and the hidden touches, and the secret lingering looks. Richie chose to forget sometimes just how closeted he really was, instead focusing on the excitement and elation that came from being Eddie Kaspbrak’s boyfriend.

In that moment, Richie fixated on the teasing press of Eddie’s thigh against his own. Second period was both Richie’s favorite and least favorite part of his day. Best because he sat between Eddie and Bill; worst because he sat beside Eddie and couldn’t do anything about it.

Sophomore year of high school had just begun, their new schedule still fresh and exciting. Hardly any projects or assignments had been assigned, and Richie had a friend in each of his classes. School problems felt far away; problems for later Richie to deal with. For now, he thought about swimming in the quarry with the last of summers sunshine and heat. And making out with Eddie whenever they got the chance.

Richie tuned out the teacher, finding it hard to listen to her voice. In the notebook he was supposed to be taking notes in, he had spent the period scrawling down cool band name ideas in case he ever needed one. And then there was Eddie’s thigh against his once again, bringing him back to the moment. He glanced at Eddie from the corner of his eye, though Eddie didn’t show any other signs of acknowledging Richie’s presence. Instead, he was writing down nearly every word their teacher was spewing.

In the secret language he and Eddie had invented back in sixth grade, Richie scribbled down a short couple of symbols that meant ‘_follow me?’_ It was a common enough phrase, one that Eddie could decipher quickly. Richie pushed it into his line of sight, knocking Eddie’s own notebook out of the way in the process.

Richie tracked Eddie’s gaze, watching as he quickly unscrambled their made-up language. Richie could tell when Eddie had finally understood the note, as he bit at his bottom lip and tilted his head from side to side. Richie could see the internal battle cross his features, as he began furiously writing back—in English—‘_What about my notes? Without notes I won’t be able to do the homework or study for the’. _Richie pulled his notebook back before Eddie could write anything else.

‘_i’ll help you’_ Richie wrote back, smiling to himself. He had to hang his head low so as to avoid being suspicious. He didn’t wait to see Eddie’s reply—he knew what it’d be, they’d done this numerous times this school year already—before turning to his right hand side and writing on Bill’s open notebook, ‘_we’ll be right back’_.

Bill rolled his eyes, but he smiled, too. So it wasn’t a complete fail.

“G-g-go ahead,” Bill whispered, all the while continuing to jot down notes from the lecture. Somehow, Bill made it look cool; his bomber jacket catching and reflecting light as his arm moved quickly. Eddie looked like a fucking nerd, doing his best to try and keep up with the teachers incessant talking. Bill, however, had strands of his bangs hanging in his face while his left hand kept his head propped up. His handwriting was neat, and his notebook organized.

Richie pulled himself out of his thoughts long enough to gesture to the teacher that he was slipping out to the bathroom. Ms. Rainier didn’t require a hall pass or obtaining formal permission—she’d gone on a lengthy rant the first day of school, explaining that they were all nearly adults and could handle using the restroom on their own. Richie had agreed profusely, mostly because it made sneaking out with Eddie easy.

Richie slipped through the hallways; hands shoved in his pockets. He passed two different restrooms in favor of the rarely used one by the cafeteria. If it wasn’t lunch period, it was vacant and quiet.

Richie didn’t have to wait long, staring at himself in the mirror and musing up his hair. He’d been singing to his reflection, though at the sound of the door swinging open, Richie turned to watch Eddie walk into the bathroom. Richie opened his arms, and Eddie rushed into them. Richie pressed his lips firmly against Eddie’s own, tugging him as close as he would come.

Luckily, Richie had learned that Eddie wasn’t afraid of cleanliness as much as he was being caught. Which wasn’t to say that Richie wasn’t afraid of being caught, but sometimes it was hard to remember when Eddie was prancing around school looking like a dream.

Eddie wasted no time, backing them into the largest stall. It was clumsy; lips still locked, fumbling and groping hands, stumbling steps. Richie tripped over his own feet, and the ends of his shoelaces. His hip banged against the stall doorway. In his excitement, Eddie pushed roughly, sending Richie flailing into the bathroom wall, reaching out for anything to grab onto and regain his balance.

Eddie giggled, covering his mouth with a hand. But the mirth was still dancing in his iris’. He looked _happy_, and so Richie did everything in his ability to bottle up how that looked and _felt._

(School starting had been difficult. Eddie’s normally contented demeanor was fractured; cracks running through every part of his life. Instead of making out until two in the morning, Eddie complained about his mother’s rigid expectations for his grades and curfew and hand-washing technique. And school nights found Eddie sitting at his desk, pouring through textbooks instead of stargazing at Mike’s family farm while they listened to the radio.)

Richie didn’t waste another moment, lunging at Eddie. He placed both of his hands against Eddie’s cheeks, smashing their lips together once again. Eddie made a noise, but he didn’t pull away. His arms went around Richie’s neck, lacing at the base. His kisses were warm and firm, his tongue licking at Richie’s lips. Richie opened happily, sighing into Eddie’s mouth. His tongue glided across Richie’s teeth, pressed against Richie’s tongue, before he bit on it gently. Eddie’s hips jumped, and Richie was officially a goner.

Richie’s hands traveled down Eddie’s sides; past his shoulders, bunching up his shirt at his waist when Eddie bit Richie’s lower lip, down to his thighs where his little royal blue shorts ended. The summer heat hadn’t completely vanished. August was muggy and warm, sunlight still burning everything it touched.

“Eds, these fucking shorts. God, they drive me crazy.” Richie groaned, groping Eddie’s thigh. Eddie didn’t respond vocally, instead he bucked his hips forward again and pressed his lips against Richie’s once again.

Richie’s mind short circuited and he could only process the feeling of holding Eddie and kissing him and being near him. They were passion fueled, and Eddie’s hip bucking was incessant. Eddie’s high-pitched whining filled the bathroom stall, leaving Richie’s skin warm. His chest felt as if it were exploding with the need to get closer to Eddie, as if that were a possibility. Richie grabbed fistfuls of Eddie’s shorts, ready to shove them down and get his hand wrapped around Eddie the way they both wanted him to. But the bell rang, signaling the end of the period.

Richie groaned in frustration. Eddie threw his head back, breathing heavily.

“How the fuck did that happen?!” Eddie huffed. “Didn’t we have twenty minutes?”

“Time flies when you’re having fun,” Richie said in a sing-song voice, smiling down at Eddie. Eddie just rolled his eyes, but he was smiling; it was the classic _Eddie look_.

Eddie palmed himself in his shorts, and Richie had to look away. It was too much. He tried to think about the feeling of a cold shower or Stan’s bird books or the frolicking sheep on the Hanlon farm. He closed his eyes, tilted his head to the side.

“Are you trying to get off?” Richie asked, because he couldn’t help himself.

“Shut up, Richie,” Eddie whined, shoving at Richie with his shoulder. “I thought we had more time, but now we have to go to class, and I look like _this_!”

Eddie looked so distressed, his eyebrows pinched and his hands aggressively readjusting his shorts. Richie couldn’t help it, he burst into laughter. Eddie glared for half a second, before his façade cracked. He giggled, wrapped his arms across his middle and bent over to laugh.

_Happiness_, Richie thought again. It was lit across Eddie’s features; brightness in his eyes, joy in his giggles, warmth exuding him. Making Eddie laugh was one of Richie’s favorite pastimes. Suddenly, Richie felt an overwhelming desire to just stand in that moment forever; the pair laughing at their predicament in a bathroom stall at Derry High. That thought alone was enough to make Richie laugh harder.

“I’m in h-h-here,” Richie hadn’t heard the bathroom door open, but Bill’s voice was loud and shocking. “I’ve g-g-got your st-st-stuff-ff-ff,” there was a loud _plop_ sound, followed by a second, when Bill dropped their backpacks onto the tile floor.

“Ewe, Bill, please!” Eddie whined, pushing past Richie to fling open the stall door and scoop up his backpack. “I’m going to throw up, I really think I might vomit!”

Eddie was somehow both adorable and fucking _hot_, no matter what he did. But the magic of their moment was gone; like a popped balloon, air rushing out and away. Eddie’s ranting filled the bathroom, until Bill grabbed the hems of their t-shirts and yanked them into the hallway.

X

The rest of the day passed slowly. Richie couldn’t focus on anything but the image of Eddie. And how deliciously he kissed. And what they might get up to after school.

In third period, Stan elbowed him incessantly each time he even appeared to stop concentrating. Ben was nicer, passing him a paper that read _you okay?_ But Richie didn’t know how to answer, because he was fucking great, thoughts full of the noises his boyfriend had been making, and the feel of his lips bruising his own. Those thoughts are incredibly distracting, though.

Fourth period wasn’t much better, but it was Geometry, so Richie was busy attempting to fill out worksheets. He only had to make it another forty-five minutes until lunch, and then he’d finally see Eddie again.

The cafeteria was already packed when Richie finally rushed in. He attempted to be hastily nimble through the lunch line, claiming his favorite seat at the lunch table and chatting quickly with Bill and Ben.

When Eddie belatedly joined them at the lunch table, Richie raked his eyes over him. The heat of the cafeteria had left a pinky tint to his cheeks, sweat beading at his forehead. His lips were still puffy and red from that morning, and he had a little sweet look on his face. He was a dream.

“Eds!” Richie yelled, although Eddie was sliding in beside him.

“I’m right here, asshole,” Eddie grumbled, scooting slightly so he was closer to Mike on his other side. Richie wanted to ignore it, especially the way it made his heart thump.

_(He’d been waiting hours for this moment, though Eddie seemed basically uninterested. He had sat beside Richie, but did that really mean anything?)_

“How’s your day going?” Mike asked, biting into an apple and offering Eddie a bright smile.

“Okay,” Eddie answered simply. Richie watched as he mixed the school lunch lukewarm gravy in with what was supposed to be mashed potatoes.

“You seem a little down,” Mike pointed out.

“It’s been a stressful day.” Eddie answered.

_(Stressful? Had something happened? Why hadn’t Eddie said something earlier? _

_Ever since they’d made out in second period, Richie’s day had been pretty fucking fantastic. Hadn’t that been good enough for Eddie, too?)_

Richie wasn’t sure if the others were having their own conversations, or if they were all listening to hear what Eddie wasn’t saying. Or if maybe that was just him.

Conversations ebbed and flowed at their table, a chorus of seven loud voices. It was always a lot, but the over stimulation was usually great for Richie’s wandering mind. He could get caught up in stories about Mike’s football practice from the night before, or complaints about a teacher Stan and Bill shared.

Lunch continued, and Richie placed a hand against Eddie’s thigh, right where the fabric of his shorts ended, and his tanned skin became visible. Eddie jumped, slapping at Richie’s wrist.

“Can you _please_ leave me alone!” Eddie said, his voice bordering on _loud_. Richie blinked once and then twice, unsure what to say. Eddie’s gaze was wild, his breathing erratic. Richie couldn’t seem to formulate thoughts, as his mind was buzzing. There were idea, concepts and fragments, but he couldn’t capture them fast enough. He could _feel_ the silence and stares of the other Losers, waiting for him to respond. But joke was on them, because Richie didn’t have any idea how.

Luckily, he was saved by the bell, signaling the end of lunch period. Eddie didn’t hesitate for even a moment, jumping to collect his things and bolt from the cafeteria.

“What’s going on?” Stan asked, just as Beverly said,

“Is he okay?”

Richie shook his head, shrugged and then stood too.

“Isn’t he just so chuckalicious?” Richie said in place of an actual reply.

“I’ll f-f-follow him,” Bill offered, throwing Richie a smile. Richie tried to smile back, but it felt more like a grimace.

Richie could feel the eyes of the remaining four on him. There was Ben’s earnest concern, Stan’s bewilderment, Bev’s calculating gaze, Mike’s scrunched eyebrows and open compassion. Instead of the comfort he knew they were trying to exude, Richie felt suddenly very vulnerable.

“See ya later, alligators,” Richie used a southern drawl, and slipped away from the table. He knew Stan would eventually catch up to him, but for now he ignored them and rushed to class.

X

The rest of Richie’s school dragged on. He replayed their lunch period over and over again. Each time he got to Eddie’s outburst, his heart seized up. He could feel the reverberation in his chest, his heart knocking against his ribcage. An overall feeling of disorientation coated his insides, leaving him feeling completely unaware of how to even begin to find a plan. Did he apologize? Had he even done anything wrong?

Seventh period was nearly over when Bill sauntered through the door, bringing a note to the teacher. Richie couldn’t remember what class Bill was coming from, but he waved and smiled slyly at Richie before he ducked out of the classroom.

“Richard,” his teacher called to him from his desk, interrupting the quiet reading time of the classroom. “This note is for you. Grab your things and head to the front office.”

Confusion settled in, though Richie did as he was asked. He shoved his unread book into his backpack and slipped out of the classroom. He could feel the eyes of the other students, so he flashed a peace sign as he left.

Bill stood in the hallway, greeting him by throwing an arm around his shoulders.

“What’s going on?” Richie asked.

“Ju-just tr-trust me,” Bill said, though he had a smile on his face.

Like always, his meddling friends had created some plan that involved him and Eddie meeting in the bathroom for the second time that day. But this time Bill and Ben were with them.

“T-t-talk,” Bill instructed. Ben stood beside him, and they both had their arms crossed against their chests. It was actually kind of hilarious, but Richie didn’t feel like laughing. Because Eddie stood beside him, but the room felt icy and cold. Richie could feel the distance between them.

“We’re g-g-gonna g-go,” Bill spoke again, and Richie watched him wince at his own stuttering; Bill hated some words. “So you t-two c-c-can t-talk.”

“Please talk,” Ben added, but then they were both gone. And Richie and Eddie were alone in the restroom once again.

“I don’t want to talk,” Eddie huffed, looking anywhere but at Richie.

“Why not?” Richie was genuinely perplexed on how things could get so bad so quickly.

“You know why.”

“No, I really don’t.”

Eddie’s patience was thin, Richie remembered. On the long list of things that had changed since the school year began, was Eddie’s thinning patience. It only took seconds before Eddie was yelling. Like now.

“How can you not see it?!” Eddie asked.

“Eddie, baby, I seriously have no idea what you’re talking about!”

Eddie groaned, throwing his head back. “Why do you make things so hard!” Eddie paused for only a moment. “Do not, Richie, do not make a sexual joke right now.”

“Do I make you hard, Eds?” Richie’s traitor mouth let the joke slip past his lips before he could stop himself. Eddie’s eyes grew.

“Can’t you be serious for even a minute?”

Richie had about four responses to make, but the hurt at Eddie’s accusation won.

“Can’t you just calm down! And tell me what the hell you’re so upset about?!”

“What _I’m_ upset about?! You won’t stop looking at him and touching me and being so fucking obvious! You know how dangerous that is!” Eddie yelled, though his voice was low, so it sounded like an angry hiss. “You know that we can’t let anyone find out about this! Why are you acting like this isn’t a big deal?”

There were so many things loaded in that statement. Richie had no idea how to derail the conversation. Because the guys restroom during seventh period didn’t seem like the best place to fully work through the conversation Eddie wanted to have.

He wanted to say so many things but felt tongue-tied. Because he wanted to angrily defend himself; of course he knew how imperative keeping their secret was. And of course he didn’t want anyone to find out—it could’ve meant serious physical harm or a forced separation or death.

His overexcitement had always gotten him in trouble and listening to Eddie rant about it now was debilitating. And while Richie didn’t want to admit it, he was upset over the entire situation. Richie’s heart stung, as if all of Eddie’s words had been tiny swords puncturing him over and over again.

He wanted to yell, wanted to fight back, but the words got lost in his throat. He turned his brown eyes to Eddie, silently begging him to say something that wasn’t wrapped in rage.

Eddie didn’t get Richie’s silent SOS, instead he bit at his bottom lip and balanced his weight from one foot to the other. Richie could feel Eddie’s frustration and sadness rolling off him in waves, and all of it settled into Richie’s core until he couldn’t breathe.

He gasped, blinking back tears. His eyelashes felt wet, which was horrifying.

They stood facing one another, still in the bathroom and Richie still had no idea what to fucking _do_.

Eddie searched Richie’s eyes, and Richie wished he knew what for, so he could be sure he’d find it there.

“You obviously don’t want to talk.” Eddie finally said. Whatever emotions he’d been willing to share were now hidden behind clouded features, and Eddie’s self-built walls. It felt like there were miles between them, not the mere feet of reality. “You can tell Bill it’s not my fault, you wouldn’t open up.”

Eddie didn’t wait another second before pushing past a stunned Richie and out of the bathroom.

Ben came in after a moment, asking Richie questions he didn’t have answers for. There wasn’t any way to explain what had happened. Ben meant well, but Richie felt distant. Ben led him out of the restroom and back down the hall, and that was that.

X

Beverly’s sweet sixteenth had been two weeks ago. They’d spent it at a drive-in movie with milkshakes at the local diner for dessert afterward. Beverly’s aunt had agreed to leave for an overnight, and so they spent the next twelve hours drinking and smoking until they fell asleep one by one. The very next day Beverly had sobered up, turned in an application and interviewed for the Unique Boutique, a local clothing thrift store. She’d obviously gotten the job, which was why Richie stood between a rack of leather and suede jackets.

“-which is just total bullshit,” Richie groaned, throwing his arms up above his head.

“Uh-huh,” Beverly hummed, straightening a rack of faded t-shirts.

“Are you even listening?”

“I’m working, Richie,” she finally looked up, narrowing her eyes at him. “So no, I’m really not.”

Richie must’ve made a face, because her own features softened. “Listen, Rich,” Beverly sighed. “I’ll take my break. You have fifteen minutes and then I gotta get back to work. And you’ve gotta go find someone who can handle your energy.”

Richie nodded appreciatively. He watched her speak to her manager, and then the pair slipped through the front door and wandered to the side of the building. Beverly lit them both a cigarette. He inhaled his deeply, holding the smoke for a minute before exhaling. He felt instantly calmer. Although, he didn’t speak until he’d started his second cigarette.

“This summer was like pure magic, Bevs,” Richie licked his lips, wincing at how cracked they were. “And then school started and everything just got fucking hard,” Richie laughed at his own accidental innuendo. “Obviously my dick being one of those things.”

“Thanks for that visual, Rich,” Beverly groaned, shaking her head at him. “Maybe you should talk to him.”

“And say what?” Richie lowered his voice into a mocking suburban husband. “_Hey, Eddie, I think we’re having marital issues_.”

Beverly snorted. “Don’t be a smart ass.”

“I’m being serious!” Richie defended. “He’s just so,” his voice faded, unsure how to finish that sentence. “Everything’s just different now.”

“Yeah but not really,” Beverly said. “His outburst at lunch? That’s totally how Eddie’s always been.”

“I guess,” Richie shrugged. “But he’s usually not that serious. Or at least it doesn’t last.”

“I still think you should just talk to him.” Beverly said after a moment, putting out her cigarette.

“I still think you should stop saying that.” Richie followed her lead, putting out his own.

“Fine, fine, don’t listen to your best friend who just wants to help you.” Beverly sighed.

Richie pretended to look around. “Uh, Bill isn’t here though,”

“Ha ha,” Beverly grumbled.

“I better go,” Richie sighed, raking a hand through his messy hair. He could smell the cigarette smoke seeping into his clothing. “Eddie’s going to have a fit,” Richie groaned.

“What do you mean?” Beverly asked, toeing at their discarded cigarettes with her black chucks.

“I wreak like smoke,” Richie offered lamely, feeling as it was kind of obvious. “He hates that.”

“Wait, you’re going to see Eddie?”

“Well, yeah, why wouldn’t I?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Beverly teased. “Maybe because you just bitched about him for half an hour and then smoked three cigarettes!”

“Well if all I do is make him angry, I may as well do whatever I want.”

“That’s fucked up,” Beverly voiced what he was already thinking.

“I hadn’t realized how fucked up that train of thought was until I said it out loud,” Richie groaned, raking a hand through his hair. “And I don’t mean it.” Richie said, as Beverly said,

“You don’t make him angry, Rich.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Richie shook his head. “He’s just so small and full of about a million emotions.”

“Which may be negative right now,” Beverly said. “But not always.”

“You’re too gosh darn smart, Lil’ Red,” Richie slurred in his cowboy Voice.

“Shut up, Richie,” Beverly bumped him with her shoulder, but she was smiling. “Go get your man.”

X

Richie snuck into Eddie’s bedroom like he’d done so many times before. A part of him had worried that the window would be locked. Eddie had been quite upset at school and had to have known that Richie would come looking for him that night. Luckily, though, Richie had found the window slipped open a fraction; as if Eddie had been waiting for him to come over. That fact alone was enough to begin easing the ache in his heart.

Eddie rose from his bed, as Richie tumbled inside. Eddie wore an old yellow t-shirt from Richie’s dads dentistry. It reached his knees, and Richie could tell that he wasn’t wearing anything else underneath besides his briefs. Richie was already weak kneed.

The two stood an arm’s length apart, Eddie wrinkled his nose, no doubt smelling the cigarette smoke on Richie’s clothes and skin. They stood facing one another; neither moving, neither speaking. Richie could tell that Eddie was still upset. But he wasn’t yelling anymore; which was most important to Richie.

“Eds?” Richie mumbled, fingers playing with the hem of his tie-dyed _Pink Floyd_ t-shirt to stop himself from grabbing onto Eddie.

Eddie hummed, blinking slowly. They had met eyes, neither willing to break contact.

“You still mad at me?” Richie asked, leaning closer to his boyfriend. Eddie hummed lowly again, biting at his bottom lip. It made it difficult for Richie to concentrate.

Because Eddie’s normally perfectly parted hair was tousled, and his lips were glossy—no doubt with Vaseline. His hazel eyes were glowing in the low light of his bedroom. Richie could count the familiar freckles that splattered across the tops of Eddie’s cheeks, the bridge of his nose, the four that lay across his lips.

Richie hadn’t noticed he’d begun leaning forward, until Eddie took a step back.

“Rich,” he mumbled, Richie grabbed for Eddie’s sleep shirt, pinching it between his fingertips and tugging slightly. Eddie came easily, until they were pressed flush against one another.

Richie’s mind was buzzing. Thoughts like _kiss him_ and _he’s going to yell again_ and _fix what you’ve broken, asshole_ ran through his mind. Mixed with _don’t break first, make him apologize _and _make him explain what the fuck happened earlier._ He didn’t have a chance to decide on a course of action, though, as Eddie lunged at him and connected their lips. It wasn’t soft or sweet, but hard and bruising.

Eddie was all teeth, and tongue, and hard pressure. His hands were in Richie’s hair, tugging and tousling. Richie could hardly breathe, but that was the farthest from his worries. Eddie was back in his arms, back to what felt like normal. And although his feelings were still hurt, and he felt confused and lost in so many ways, he pushed that to the back of his mind when Eddie started yanking at the bottom of his shirt.

“Off,” Eddie mumbled, pulling away from Richie long enough to pull the shirt up and over his head. Eddie tried to reconnect their lips, but Richie wanted so much more. Like Eddie’s large sleep shirt on the floor. But Eddie’s lips looked fully kissed, and so Richie had to suck on his bottom lip before he could move on to anything else. Eddie gave a high-pitched moan when Richie bit at his bottom lip, his fingers raking back up into Richie’s curls.

“Yours, too,” Richie finally groaned out, trying to pull away from Eddie. But he was clingy and warm, brown eyes big and full of passion.

Eddie didn’t allow Richie to tug at his shirt, instead he fumbled at Richie’s black and white checkered belt. His hands shook, though, so it wasn’t easy. Richie reached down to help, though Eddie batted at his hand, insisting on doing it himself. It was both infuriating and really hot.

Eddie took another thirty seconds or so to finally get it unbuckled and completely unlaced from his jeans. As if he needed to, as if Richie wasn’t dying to touch or be touched. Eddie groped at his button and zipper next, yanking his black jeans and hot pink boxers down together. Eddie moved quickly, spitting into his hand and wrapping it around Richie’s dick. Richie couldn’t help the low groan that fell from his lips, he let his head fall forward until it fell against Eddie’s shoulder. He bit at the clothed skin, all the while trying not to shout Eddie’s name.

“Too – too many clothes,” Richie managed to stutter out, trying to pull Eddie’s shirt off while Eddie still had a hand wrapped around Richie’s dick. “Eds, come _on,_”

“Yeah, Rich, come already,” Eddie teased, though it sounded off as he was still very much wrapped around Richie. Richie laughed, though it sounded more like a squawk.

Richie finally just shoved at Eddie until he pulled away enough for Richie to yank his shirt off. Richie couldn’t walk or move too much, as his jeans and boxers were pooled at his feet. He hadn’t taken the time to pull his feet out, as everything had become so much so quickly.

Richie took a moment to untangle himself, nearly falling onto his ass in the process. Eddie giggled, all the while pulling down his own white briefs. His eyes were alight, and his cheeks were flushed red. And Richie was caught in the moment, heart just as exposed as the rest of him felt.

Eddie’s bed was close, and so Richie flopped down, gesturing for Eddie to join him. He didn’t hesitate, just bound across the room and climbed in beside Richie. His dick was bright red, leaking, and Richie couldn’t handle it all. He felt entirely too close to coming, just at the electricity in the room and the look across Eddie’s face.

“Rich,” he groaned, long and low, when Richie brought a hand to him. He pressed his thumb against the slit, rubbing the precum around the head. Eddie threw his head back, grasping at the sheets around him. He looked blissed out, and it was already too much for Richie. The emotions that had festered all day were fizzling, just at the feeling of Eddie’s warm breath and pleased noises.

So maybe they fought. Maybe it wasn’t as simple and easy as the summer had been.

But the slide of their lips together, roaming hands, press of bare skin and moans of passion were exhilarating. It was easy to forget how upset he’d made Eddie when they sat together against Eddie’s sheets. Moans and name chanting filling the space, creating a world that was all their own. Excitement and passion lit at Richie’s core. Eddie was all high-pitched moans and breathy sighs.

“Eds, come here,” Richie murmured, letting go of Eddie long enough to grab at his wrists and tug him closer. Richie was settled against the headboard, pile of pillows behind his bareback. He patted the mattress at the place between his legs, and Eddie eagerly fell into the space on his knees. He climbed into Richie’s lap, legs wrapped around his waist. It was a simple position, though it was passionate and electric and all of Richie’s mind went blank when he finally wrapped a hand around both of their cocks together. The pressure of his hand paired with Eddie’s warm and firm dick were nearly too much.

“_Fuck_,” Richie hissed, overwhelmed by everything he felt. He couldn’t quite get a good rhythm going how he was, so he spit into his other hand and brought it down, too. With both hands together, Richie was able to pump them both in a way that felt fucking _fantastic_.

Richie’s world became _Eddie_; the way he chanted Richie’s name, the way his dick jumped against Richie’s own, the way he panted and squirmed, and trailed his fingertips up and down Richie’s thighs. Richie wanted to beg for the moment to last forever, but he couldn’t speak anything that wasn’t a prayer of Eddie’s name. He couldn’t breathe a sound that wasn’t about Eddie’s dick and heated glances. Richie was overwhelmed, overstimulated and completely out of his mind.

“_Eddie_,” he whined, as if Eddie would know what he needed and wanted in that moment.

Eddie proved his talent and his love, though, when he squeezed at Richie’s thigh in just the spot Richie needed it. He groaned low, curse words falling from his lips.

Richie’s heart was bursting from the seams, when Eddie groaned, “_I’m close, Rich, fuck, I’m so fucking close. Make me come,_” as if there was anything Richie wouldn’t do for Eddie, as if his heart wasn’t buoyed to Eddie’s own. As if there weren’t fireworks going off between them as Richie glided their cocks together in his spit-slick hands.

Richie wasn’t sure if a minute or thirty passed between them. Eddie leaned over, pressing their lips together in a kiss. And he couldn’t keep up with him, so their lips fell apart until they were merely breathing into one another’s mouths.

Eddie came with a high-pitched whine of, “_Richie!”_ He shot all over Richie’s hands, and the head of Richie’s dick and across their stomachs and thighs. It was warm and sticky, and exactly what Richie needed to come as well.

He shook, shooting over the both of them and collapsing against the pillows behind him. His breathing was uneven, his eyes clamped shut. Exhaustion settled into his body, old feelings from that day threatening to settle back in. Richie opened his eyes, wanting to see Eddie, to prove to his mind that they were still here and happy together.

Eddie had grabbed for the pack of tissues he kept beside his bedside table, pulling out four. Richie watched him place them on the bed, unfolding them one by one. When he began cleaning their bodies, his movements were slow and methodic. It was measured movements, hands swiping against Richie’s stomach. When he pressed at his thighs, Richie jumped. The sensation was overwhelming to his sensitive body.

When Eddie finished, he crumpled the tissues together, wrapped a fresh one around them and tossed them into the trash can on the other side of his bedside table. He flicked the lamp off, throwing the room into darkness. With only the moonlight as a guide, they fell against the sheets together, Eddie wrapping himself around Richie. He was cuddly and warmhearted, settling against Richie’s bare chest.

Silence seeped into the room. Richie could hear his own heart beating in his chest, and he wondered if Eddie could feel it against his forehead. If he knew how much Richie ached for him.

“I love you. You know that, right?” Richie asked earnestly, feeling his heart leap into his throat. Eddie’s hair was rumpled, and his eyes were soft. All the things Richie wanted to say were clogged in his throat; fragmented sentences and scary words he knew he couldn’t say.

Eddie didn’t hesitate, “Of course, yeah.” He smiled softly. Richie could see how young and tired Eddie actually was in that moment. There were deep bags under his eyes—hadn’t he been sleeping?—paired with the gentleness of his baby face.

“I do, too, Rich,” Eddie mumbled, grabbing for Richie’s hand. “Love you, I mean.”

Richie took a deep breath, finally feeling his heart settle like it hadn’t in days. He gestured wildly with his hands until Eddie finally rolled his eyes, smiled and rolled onto his other side. Eddie was the perfect little spoon, fitting perfectly in the concave of Richie’s body. Richie wrapped his arms around Eddie’s waist, tugging him close to his body. Eddie’s body was warm and compliant, and he let Richie jerk him around until he was comfortable.

Eddie pulled his knees up to his chest, snuggling backwards until his back was flush against Richie’s chest. Heat radiated between the pair, making Richie grateful for the fan that sat across the room blowing air at them. The end of summer late night heat was still present, making them sticky and gooey. But Richie didn’t care enough to pull away. If Eddie was finally feeling affectionate—the first time in days—then Richie wouldn’t be complaining.

So maybe they fought. Maybe it wasn’t as simple and easy as the summer had been. But falling asleep with Eddie in his arms was a piece of their summer and their childhood and their friendship. Everything Richie had always wanted; a friendship set on fire. The jokes and their playful banter and the way Eddie somehow always understood what Richie didn’t know how to say; Richie had wanted all of that for the rest of the foreseeable future. And he’d wanted to kiss Eddie; and suck his dick. So maybe they were getting back to who they’d been that summer. Richie felt a peace wash over him he’d been craving for days.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richie’s a whirlwind, but Eddie loves being swept up in it all.

Ready to Run – Chapter Two

_There’s a lightning in your eyes I can’t deny_

_And then there’s me inside a sinking boat_

_Running out of time_

Confusion was the first thing Eddie became aware of when he awoke. There was a thump and a grumbled, “_Fuck”_ before it was quiet again. Eddie wanted to rub at his eyes, as they stung. But there was suddenly a forced weight on the bed, and Eddie was given clarity; Richie spent the night. No doubt he was fumbling to get dressed. Sunlight streamed through his bedroom curtains, Eddie could see even behind closed eyelids. It had to be before six; Richie had to be out before his mother awoke. She would come pounding on Eddie’s door, insisting he start getting ready for school. She’d battle him to take some medications he knew he didn’t need, until he either complied or ran out the door as she screamed at his retreating form. Richie would be just around the block, balancing on his bike and whining about how _goddamn early it is_. It was a familiar routine; one they engaged in at least twice a week.

Eddie felt he should open his eyes and possibly start getting ready for the day. But Richie was whistling under his breath, which meant he was _happy_. And Eddie didn’t feel any better than he did before Richie had come tumbling into his bedroom the night before. It was an achy sort of feeling that had started in his chest. But each day it felt like it was growing, until it felt like a cloud that was following him around. Richie wasn’t the problem; far from it actually. But as it all piled up, everything felt like an uncomfortable rash. He wanted to reach for an inhaler he hadn’t used in so long.

Waking up beside Richie helped, but the words to say that didn’t come up. Because they weren’t even sixteen, and the implications of it all were terrifying. So instead he kept his eyes clamped shut and waited for Richie to leave.

The room went suddenly still, no doubt Richie was finally dressed in yesterday’s clothes. He hadn’t brought a spare outfit, so Eddie knew he wouldn’t be around the corner that morning. Richie would have to run home and race to the school before the first bell rang—he probably wouldn’t make it, but Richie didn’t really care about punctuality.

That meant Eddie was on his own that morning. He could bike to Bill’s house if he didn’t want to ride alone—and he usually didn’t—but he was feeling particularly agitated that morning. It would be best, he knew, to ride alone.

There was a weight on the bed again, and this time Eddie could feel Richie hovering over him. Richie leaned close, pressing his lips tenderly to the Eddie’s temple. Eddie didn’t move and Richie pulled away. Eddie listened to him climb out of his bedroom window, leaving him alone.

Alone with his thoughts and his uncertainties. What a horrible way to start the day.

X

That night, they lay together on Eddie’s little twin bed. They both barely fit still, but Eddie was still afraid of sneaking out at night, and Maggie and Went didn’t mind if Richie spent the night out. So this arrangement still made a lot of sense.

After getting up that morning, Eddie had desperately tried to hold onto anything that resembled the peace he’d felt all summer. But it had only left his spirit bloody and bruised, because he couldn’t keep a hold on any of it. Lunch had been stressful, because he loved Richie’s attention but was terrified that the wrong person might notice and put the pieces together. And afterschool his mother had called him into her bedroom, asking him to paint her toenails and an irrational part of his mind told him that she knew something. Even though he knew that was impossible.

So sure he’d woken with the cold dread in just his chest, but it’d slowly leaked throughout the rest of him until he felt heavy attempting to carry it all with him.

Now, Eddie felt about a million things all at once. Richie was hovering over him, pressing long kisses against his jawline, collarbones, earlobe, the place where his throat met his shoulder. It was one of his favorite things; when Richie slowed down long enough to pay attention to the soft and sensitive parts of his body. But he couldn’t lose himself long enough to enjoy Richie’s attention.

Because his mind was currently looping through a never-ending list of pressure and pain. And he couldn’t push it all away long enough. Instead, it was sixty seconds or so until he became aware of the pressure again. He wanted Richie. The thought of losing their relationship was terrifying, but being caught was, too.

He finally had Richie in the way he’d always wanted him. But something _hurt_. Was it the secrecy? Was it because he no longer felt like he and Richie were even on the same page; since Richie always danced around the truth in serious conversations? Or was it because he wasn’t brave enough to love Richie anymore?

Another part of his brain screamed in retaliation; he _was_ brave enough to love Richie. He had already done it this long. He’d carried his love for Richie in his pocket for years, crammed it deep down until he couldn’t see it sometimes. But he’d never let an ounce of it spill.

Panic countered this rebuttal, reminding him that his mother was down the hall. And if she found out, then Eddie was a goner.

His heart said Richie, but his mind said _hide._

And just like that, he couldn’t breathe. His mind was too loud; thoughts about his mother, his feelings, the tininess of the closet they were forced to live in, the buzzing in his mind and chest all screaming at once. It compounded and he couldn’t fucking breathe. He pushed Richie off him quickly, hands trembling. All at once, new emotions flooded him—things like guilt seeped in just by the look of hurt that crossed Richie’s features.

“I can’t _breathe_,” Eddie gasped, his own hands closing around his throat as if that would somehow help. Richie looked frantic and scared, which only escalated Eddie’s guilt.

Richie fumbled some more before asking, “Do you need your inhaler?”

Eddie could only shake his head, muttering, “I can’t fucking do this.” As if that meant something, as if he had any idea what he was even trying to say.

“Do what?! Breathe?!” Richie’s voice was terrified, Eddie recognized. He hated that he knew what Richie sounded like when he was scared shitless; hated that he heard it in this setting at all.

“I-” Eddie hiccupped, finally beginning to hyperventilate. Short bursts of air filled his lungs, but it wasn’t enough.

Eddie clamped his eyes shut, unable to see Richie look so distraught. It only heightened his hysteria. He had to focus all his energy on relaxing his lungs and chocking down air. In the back of his mind he thought to maybe count his breaths, or relax his mind, but none of that felt possible. Instead, he kept gasping, kept hoping he could catch his breath.

He could feel Richie’s hands at his sides, tentative and gentle. Richie’s breath was warm against his neck and left ear. His body lay beside Eddie’s, and so Eddie imagined the freckles that dotted Richie’s face. He thought about the way his hair felt in Eddie’s hands. Eddie loved tugging and pulling at his hair while they were physically intimate, but it was more than that, too. He loved running his fingers through it while he fell asleep or when it was drying from a day out in the Quarry.

Haltingly, Eddie lifted his arm until his fingers found purchase in Richie’s hair. Richie gave a small noise that Eddie couldn’t decipher, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, he leaned into the touch and Eddie scratched at his scalp. All at once realizing that he could breathe again, that he had found that power himself.

As Richie began talking a mile a minute—_“What the fuck? Are you okay? What happened? Did I do something? Fuck, Eddie you scared the shit out me and”_—Eddie attempted to catalogue how it felt to take control over the situation. He had found his solution; he had sought comfort in something real and safe. He didn’t need counterfeit drugs to save him. He could save himself with help from someone he loved.

He desperately wanted to remember that; when he was scared in public, or when his mother slung her icy words and disappointed glares. There was something worth fighting for.

Eddie ignored the fear and panic that still sat in the corners of his chest, choosing to focus on the sound of Richie’s mumbling. Maybe their relationship had to be a secret, and maybe it was sometimes too heavy to hold. But he didn’t have to do any of it alone.

X

After school afternoons found the Losers Club down in their infamous clubhouse. Over the summer Ben had made wooden chairs at a camp he’d attended, and then he and Mike and Bill had made a couple more. Now they sat scattered across the clubhouse. Although the hammock was still everyone’s favorite, the chairs weren’t so bad. Eddie sat on one that afternoon, since Ben had claimed the hammock before they’d even left school grounds. The rest of his friends sat around the clubhouse, music playing from the small radio in the corner.

Stan and Beverly had tried to get Eddie to play a card game with them, though Eddie didn’t know the rules and didn’t care to learn. He was currently busy watching the competition in the middle of the clubhouse floor. Richie was a whirlwind, currently trying to out jumping-jack Bill and Mike. Eddie had lost track how that bet came across, but he did know that Richie would not be walking away twenty dollars richer. He was already looking winded; sweat beading at his forehead, and glasses sliding down his nose. His trash talk was vulgar and ridiculous—two of Richie’s most discernible qualities. But Eddie wasn’t disturbed. In fact, he found himself hiding his smile.

“It doesn’t matter if you two win anyway,” Richie was saying. “Because I have the best prize of all, Eddie Spaghetti’s sweet-”

“Shut up, dipshit!” Eddie hollered, unsure how that sentence would end, but not willing to find out among everyone.

“Anything for you, honey!” Richie used a voice, though Eddie wasn’t sure what he was trying to sound like. Richie’s voices weren’t always clear. Richie turned back to Mike and Bill, telling them that Eddie’s heart and body were prizes enough. And he did so in a high falsetto voice. Eddie would never tell anyone the way that made his stomach swoop, and his heartbeat race. Richie’s affection meant everything to Eddie.

He didn’t know how Richie did it, sometimes. Even among their friends it was occasionally overwhelming to be seen as a pair. After having his guard up all day long, it wasn’t easily lowered. Richie was electric, and brave and never afraid. Although Eddie knew that wasn’t true, it often seemed that way. Richie loved passionately—not only with Eddie, but also with his friendships with the other Losers. Richie carved their initials onto the Kissing Bridge, and he drew little ‘_E_’s all over his converse. He dreamed big and loud, his future bright and full.

And then there was Eddie, he knew intrinsically, the one holding them back. From being happy and whole. He hadn’t wanted to admit it to himself, but here he was. He had wanted to heft all of the blame onto Richie; wanted it to be because Richie wouldn’t take anything serious or show his heart. Richie kept his cards so close to his chest, that sometimes Eddie wasn’t sure of anything at all. But he wasn’t innocent, it wasn’t entirely Richie’s fault that they argued now.

So much of Eddie’s future felt so murky and frightening. But glancing over at Richie who had collapsed to the floor—insisting someone call a paramedic for an injury he was calling ‘jiggly legs’—Eddie felt certain of one thing. Although there was so much that still felt uncertain, there was this part of his life that was sure. Like Richie’s sparkly brown eyes when he joked, and the warmth of his calloused fingers laced within his own.

But why was that so hard to remember when his panic flared?

Later that night, Richie and Eddie walked their bikes side by side back to the Kaspbrak’s. Though they hadn’t formally agreed on it, Richie would most likely be staying the night. It had been a normalcy in their relationship for longer than Eddie could remember. Hadn’t they always spent nights under Eddie’s blankets? Since the beginning of time?

Eddie was quiet, pretending to be listening to the story Richie was currently telling. Something about rearranging all the comic books in the clubhouse to see how long it took Stan to notice. (Eddie was willing to bet it would be the first thing Stan noticed the next time they went down there, but he didn’t feel like saying that.)

Richie continued talking animatedly, all the while fidgeting. In his periphery, Eddie watched as Richie kept scratching at his cheekbone and pressing his glasses back up his nose. Only to scrunch his nose, shake his head and let them fall back down. Which was when he’d reach back up to push the frames up once again. It was becoming incredibly irritating. And although Richie certainly had random quirks, this felt oddly amiss.

“Will you fucking stop?!” Eddie asked, wincing at the iciness in his voice. He effectively cut off Richie’s rambling storytelling and paused him mid reach up.

“What the fuck?!” Richie responded, slowly lowering his hand.

“You keep fucking,” Eddie gesticulated wildly, “pushing and pulling at your glasses, and clicking your fucking tongue, and it’s fucking annoying!” As soon as the words tumbled out, he regretted them. Richie looked instantly upset.

“Tell me how you really feel, Eds,” Richie spoke sarcastically, shifting his body weight and appearing suddenly taller; a subconscious defensive stance. Eddie wanted to smack himself in the face. He’d seriously fucked up.

“Somethings clearly wrong,” Eddie said, following his original train of conversation.

“Clearly,” Richie agreed. “Care to enlighten me?”

“No, I mean with you!” Eddie pressed. “You’re being overly fidgety, and you were just about to tell me a story you’ve already told me twice today! Twice, Richie!”

“It’s a great story!”

“Why won’t you just fucking talk to me?!” Eddie yelled in exasperation, feeling unable to stay calm. Richie kept ignoring Eddie’s questions, changing the conversation when anything got too serious. And Eddie didn’t want to talk alone, didn’t want to love alone. “I need you to talk to me, Rich!”

“I’ve been talking this whole time!” Richie sounded equally as exasperated. His eyes looked huge behind his coke bottle glasses. It was such a sweet and familiar sight that Eddie almost lost his nerve. He hated how easy he was for Richie. It didn’t help when he was trying to be angry. But that was the thing; he didn’t want to be angry. He wanted to feel normal again.

“You know that’s not what I meant!” Eddie said, rolling his eyes.

“No, I actually don’t!”

“We keep not talking and it’s fucked up, Richie! You have to fucking talk to me and tell me why you’re acting so fucking weird!”

“Well so do you!”

“You first!”

They stood facing one another, chests heaving. The moonlight gleamed across Richie’s face, enhancing his prominent cheekbones and jawline. He looked beautiful. And angry as hell. And, Eddie noticed, hurt. Eddie bit his tongue against everything that wanted to come pouring out. He wanted Richie to break first.

He wasn’t prepared, though, when he did.

“Whatever,” Richie grumbled. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Eddie.”

X

(And Eddie tried—_really tried—_to not let that bruise.

_Eddie_.

As if that was something Richie ever called him. Eddie couldn’t remember a time Richie had called him that seriously since the day they met. It was always nicknames and pet names and silly words that rhymed. Never just Eddie.

He lay in bed that night—_alone_—hands curled up into fists, eyes following the dancing shadows cast by the moonlight against the tree outside his bedroom window. He blinked and blinked until the tears that collected at his eyes dripped down his face. He held his breath, counted to ten, then let it out. He bit at the inside of his cheek until the soft skin felt raw.

_Anything_, he thought; he’d do anything to try to shut off the constant stream of his intrusive thought flow.)

X

Eddie hated Bill Denbrough and his ability to convince Eddie into nearly any situation. Like standing in the guys restroom when he should have been in class. Richie and Ben had just filed through the doorway, and Eddie already knew he wasn’t going to like what was about to happen.

“We have to lock you two in here again,” Ben was saying to Richie as the door swung shut behind them.

“Or you could mind your own business,” Eddie cut in, crossing his arms against his chest.

“Nice to see you, too,” Richie mumbled, pressing his glasses higher up his nose. He looked adorable when he did it, but Eddie didn’t feel like admitting that aloud.

“You two were we-weird at lunch ag-g-gain,” Bill said, glancing between the pair. Eddie knew he was right; knew it was because of the argument the night before, and because neither were willing to just fucking talk.

“It’s hard to watch,” Ben sighed.

“And annoy-noying,” Bill added, hands crossed against his chest. Fuck Bill and his imposing form.

“Don’t hold back,” Richie snipped, looking upset. Although he often put on a show, Richie wasn’t usually genuinely irritated. Something was seriously bothering him, and Eddie really didn’t want to find out in a verbal battle in the horrendous smelling high school bathroom.

“We don’t need your help,” Eddie added, glancing away from Richie to glare at Bill and Ben.

“We think you do,” Ben said, glancing up at Bill before they both nodded. It was comical, but Eddie didn’t feel much like laughing.

Eddie ignored them both, instead, glancing down at his shoes.

He jumped slightly at the sound of the bathroom door swinging shut, glancing up to watch Bill and Ben’s retreating forms.

“I don’t have anything to say,” Eddie crossed his arms against his chest, attempting to appear more composed than he actually felt.

“Me neither,” Richie copied his body movements, nose scrunching in the process. Which nearly threw off Eddie’s entire composure, because Richie looked so fucking kissable.

“Fine.” Eddie pouted.

“Fine,”

“Don’t fucking copy me!”

“_Don’t fucking copy me!_” Richie mocked in his Eddie impression voice; Eddie hated that voice.

“Richie! Fucking stop!”

Richie only mocked his words back to him, in that same falsetto voice. Eddie wanted to stomp his foot, though he knew that wouldn’t help anything.

“What’s your fucking problem?!” Eddie asked, hoping to trick Richie into dropping the copy-cat act and actually opening his heart.

“I don’t have one,” Richie grumbled.

“I’m not stupid, Richie.” Eddie pressed. “I know something’s wrong!”

“Something’s wrong with _you_!” Richie pointed an accusatory finger at Eddie. “You’re just upset all the time, Eds!”

Eddie wasn’t sure how to respond. He felt like crying and screaming and running straight out of the bathroom. His heart was reverberating in his chest so loudly he could hardly concentrate on anything else.

“It’s not like I want to be like this, constantly fucking stressed over everything!” Eddie exploded.

Richie went to speak again, but Eddie felt fired impassioned, unable to stop now that he’d started. “This is not my fault!” Eddie’s voice was bordering on shouting, he knew, but he was struggling to stay calm.

“Why does it have to be somebody’s fault?!” Richie asked. Eddie didn’t have an answer to that, except that he didn’t want to be the one with blame hefted on his shoulders. He didn’t want to be the reason they fought and argued. He didn’t want to be the reason for the sadness in Richie’s eyes.

“I’m not the one who won’t open up!” Eddie said instead. Sometimes Richie appeared to be on the brink of finally telling Eddie something. He’d bite at his bottom lip, lean forward and then promptly roll back onto the heels of his feet. He had to watch Richie deflate right before him, no idea how to press him further.

“What?!” Richie asked, confusion laced in the one word.

“You heard me!” Eddie answered. “You don’t ever just say how you’re feeling!”

“Neither do you!” Richie countered, which was the best and worst thing he could’ve said. Best because Eddie felt vindicated to now explode every last emotion he’d had since the beginning of the school year. Worst because those feelings were huge, and Eddie had no fucking clue what to do with them all.

“I’m so stressed!” Eddie exploded, clenching his fists. There was a rage just beneath the skin that he had no idea how to handle. It was all encompassing and it was exhausting. “And scared! And tired! And so fucking _lost_! Because I think I know exactly what I want and what I feel, but then this fucking buzzing in my head and my chest and underneath my skin starts, and then I don’t know anything anymore!” As the words came tumbling out, Eddie felt physically ill. He could hear Ben’s voice in the back of his head—“_That sounds like anxiety, Eddie, not asthma._”—but he didn’t want to have anxiety. He didn’t want to do the breathing exercises in that stupid fucking book that Ben and Mike found in the library. He didn’t want to do yoga with Stan. He didn’t want to tell Richie about how fucking hard it was to breathe at school when he touched Eddie for too long or stared at him with that _look_ in his eyes.

So he stormed out of the bathroom before Richie could respond with a dumb comment or follow up question. He tried to ignore Bill and Ben who were still standing outside the bathroom.

“Eddie?!”

“Fuck off,” he grumbled, rushing past them. But it wasn’t that easy, and Eddie should’ve known.

Bill came chasing after him, easily catching up and grabbing Eddie’s arm. “Wh-what’s _wrong_?” Bill was so earnest, and Eddie’s resolve crumbled. He knew there were tears collecting in his eyes, and he was afraid of it all. The silence in the hallway was daunting, and Richie was only a couple feet away. And Eddie was terrified of facing what that all meant.

“I feel like shit,” Eddie answered quickly, looking away so he couldn’t see Bill’s face. “I’m going home.”

“I d-don’t know if-f-f that’s a g-good idea,” Bill stuttered out, holding on tighter to Eddie’s arm. “Wh-what ab-b-bout your mo-mom?”

Eddie hadn’t thought of that; going home meant facing his mother and a possible doctor’s visit. Sure his stomach was in knots, and his shoulders felt heavy with everyone he both did and did not want to say. But that wasn’t anything a doctor could fix. Running had seemed like a good idea, but he could hear Ben and Richie’s hushed conversation, and his arm was throbbing where Bill was holding him. And he still had two periods left until the day was over. On the off chance his mother wasn’t home, she’d get calls from the school about his absence. It wasn’t worth it; Bill was right.

He deflated, and Bill must’ve noticed because he let go. “Y-y-you c-can come over aft-t-ter school,” Bill promised. Eddie nodded. “I’ll w-walk w-with you b-b-back to cla-class.”

Eddie nodded again. There wasn’t anything more to say. So he followed Bill’s lead, without looking behind to see Richie’s face. He couldn’t see it right then.

X

It was happening again. That made it twice that week that his mind ruined the only time he got to spend openly loving his boyfriend while they pretended that nothing serious was going on. Eddie wasn’t sure if it was make-up sex, angry sex, or lets-pretend-that-everythings-not-fucked-up sex. Either way, it wasn’t going well for Eddie.

The buzzing in his head had spread throughout his body. His chest was always infected first; lungs gasping for breath that he couldn’t catch. Richie was gentle tonight, more so than Eddie could remember him being. Richie was normally all frantic movements, excited hip gyrating, nippy kisses and a level of energy Eddie adored. They were never boring, and neither was their sex life.

But everything felt different, so it made sense that this was, too. Richie’s kisses were long and slow, lips connected and tongues sliding against one another. Richie hovered over Eddie’s body, forearms propping himself up. Eddie’s fingers raked through Richie’s hair, catching curls and pulling gently when Richie bit at his bottom lip. His other hand was placed firmly against Richie’s hip. And Eddie wanted to tug him down until he fell against his own body, but his thoughts were too heavy.

Everything felt so heavy.

Their school argument felt like it had happened more than just hours ago. Especially as they lay together, exchanging warm and amorous kisses. Eddie had his eyes closed, concentrating on the feel of Richie’s body and lips and tongue, and the way his glasses hit the top of Eddie’s cheeks.

It was difficult to hold it all within himself; to feel as if he were loving alone. It felt like so much was on the line. And Eddie didn’t want to tell a lie. He didn’t want to have to hide.

He could see it in Richie’s eyes, and he knew he really felt the same.

Eddie kissed and kissed until it didn’t hurt; until his mind was full of Richie’s sounds and touches. Sometimes it worked, and as Richie began biting at Eddie’s collarbones, he finally allowed himself to slip away.

Richie decorated Eddie’s collarbones, leaving behind a string of red and purple. Eddie felt spit-slick, half-hard and madly in love.

No matter the new ache that followed him, that he dragged like a ball and chain. He could ignore it all when Richie rolled his hips and sucked hard at his neck. His world was full of Richie in that moment, and for that half hour of loving Eddie felt okay.

When they rolled apart, cuddled together and fell asleep, the dread would settle in. But for now, Eddie begged Richie to _hurry up_ and _press harder_. Richie was a receptive lover, eager to give Eddie everything.

Eddie knew he wasn’t sharing everything, but he wasn’t the only one. Richie was hiding his heart, too.

X

Eddie flung open the front door of Unique Boutique, fiddling with the collar of his jacket. He’d had to zip it to the top and pop the collar in order to hide the plethora of hickeys Richie had left the night before. He couldn’t complain, as he hadn’t made any move to stop his boyfriend.

He had one goal, and so he held his breath against the smells of the thrift store and ducked inside. There was one thing Eddie was sure of; Beverly could fix anything.

He searched the store, before spying Beverly pulling clothing off a rolling rack and placing them where they went. Her bright red hair was pulled back by a headband, dark makeup powdered around her eyes. She wore the vibrant blue vest all employees wore, though she was the only one who could make it look good.

He approached her quickly, trying to act inconspicuous; he didn’t want to get her into any trouble. “Hey, Bev,” she jumped slightly, though when her eyes landed on Eddie she smiled.

“Hey, Eds,” she greeted back. “What brings you in? Looking for a cute new top?”

“Not today,” Eddie shook his head. “Have you taken your break? I need to talk to you.”

Beverly just smiled. She reached out a hand to ruffle at his hair, despite his attempts to push her away. “Anything for you,” she teased, gesturing towards the front door. “Meet me outside by the side of the building.”

Eddie nodded his head, going out the way he came in. He stood awkwardly, waiting for Beverly to join him. It didn’t take long before she was standing beside him and throwing an arm over his shoulder. He appreciated the touch, feeling instantly grounded. Touch had always been something he craved from the other Losers. It was something his mother had demanded without concern for his feelings, and it was nice to choose this for himself.

“What do you need to talk about?” Beverly asked, kicking at a pebble with her toe.

“It’s nothing, really,” Eddie found himself saying, already feeling his bravery dissipate.

_Beverly could fix anything_, he reminded himself.

(And she could. There was the summer of 1989. That horrible summer that changed everything but gave him a sister. There were so many times he had sat beside her at the quarry, throwing a rock per secret they shared. _When my mom is around, sometimes I can’t breathe_, Eddie would whisper and toss a flat rock out into the murky water. When they heard it splash, Beverly would murmur _sometimes I don’t want to go home, because I’m afraid_ and she would pitch a rock the size of her palm, spraying water up and around them.

Beverly kept secrets close to her chest, warming them in her heart.)

“Well I know that’s a lie,” Beverly said after a moment. “You’ve been weird all week.”

“It’s been longer than that,” Eddie grumbled.

“I know,” Beverly murmured, as if that too was a secret she knew to guard. And maybe it was. “So what’s wrong? Is it your mom?” Bev’s voice was still low, concern laced in each word.

Eddie took a moment to think it over. Was it his mom?

It was.

But it wasn’t. His mother hadn’t done anything in particular. She hadn’t shown any signs of knowing his secret. She hadn’t improvised any new ridiculous rules, and she hadn’t pulled him aside to evaluate his grades and goals yet. As if she gave a shit more than having something to hold over him.

But wasn’t she part of the problem? Hadn’t she invented so many sicknesses that now a real one had finally stuck? _Anxiety_, Ben had called it. He couldn’t even speak the word, was so personally offended by it.

“Sort of,” Eddie whispered back, feeling exposed. “But also not.”

“Is it Richie?” Beverly asked next.

Eddie’s mind wandered, attempting to evaluate that question, too. Richie was not a problem; Richie was his best friend. Richie told the best jokes and always knew what Eddie meant when he said it all backwards. And dating Richie was a dream come true, the answer to a wish he’d made for years. But the secrets and hiding and lies were sometimes so heavy, Eddie couldn’t feel anything but the taut tensity. And how it caked his insides, crystallizing in his lungs and against his ribcage.

“Not really, but kind of.” Eddie stumbled out, knowing how ridiculous it sounded as he said it.

“Kind of?” Beverly prompted.

“Like, I mean,” Eddie groaned, hiding his face behind his hands. “Like, have you talked to Ben? Or Stan?”

Beverly’s eyebrows furrowed. “Um, why?”

Eddie groaned again, feeling apprehensive and unsure. “Well Ben says we have this mental _thing_, called anxiety.” Eddie spit the word out, hating the way it felt in his mouth.

“Oh,” Beverly nodded. “Yeah, I’ve heard about that.” She pulled him closer to her body, and he cuddled against her side.

“And yeah,” Eddie added lamely. “It fucks everything up.”

“I’m really sorry, Eddie.” She never called him Eddie, had always followed Richie’s lead with Eds and other silly, childish nicknames. It felt weird to hear her say it now. As if the conversation were as serious as he didn’t want to acknowledge it was.

“It’s fine,” Eddie said. “But it just really, really fucks shit up.”

“I’m sorry, Eds,” Beverly repeated, but Eddie could hear the same sincerity as before. He knew she meant it. “So that’s why you and Richie have been really weird lately?”

Eddie hadn’t thought about it that directly, but he knew instantly that Beverly was right. His anxiety was eating their relationship. “I guess so,”

“Does Richie know?” Beverly asked after a moment.

Eddie could only shake his head, as the familiar ache began growing in his chest.

“Oh, Eds,” Beverly sighed. “I think you should tell him.”

Feeling suddenly vulnerable, heart and soul exposed, Eddie spit out, “Great advice. What about you and Ben then, huh?”

Beverly looked taken aback, clearly not expecting the change of pace. “What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked, and Eddie could see her defenses pulling up. _Fuck._ He sighed.

“That’s not what I meant to say,” he covered his face with his hands, kind of wanting to sink into the ground. “Fuck.”

“Then what _did_ you mean?” She pressed firmly, though she sounded much less defensive.

“You’ve got all this great advice, but when are you going to take it for yourself? You and Ben have been in love since that awful fucking summer,”

“Eddie,” Beverly sighed, closing her eyes for a moment or two. “It just, it wouldn’t,” she paused for several moments, glancing away from him when she finally opened her eyes. “It’s not that easy. Ben is just really _good_,” she shrugged. “And I’m just _me,_”

“What are you talking about?” Eddie hated the sadness in her voice, hated how vulnerable she looked.

“I don’t want to be that girl everyone said I was; burning through relationships faster than I can keep up with.” Beverly tilted her head to the side. “God, I want a cigarette.”

Eddie laughed warmly, wanting to wrap her up in a hug. “I won’t mind if you smoke.”

“God, you’re the best,” she fumbled inside her pocket, before pulling out a cigarette and her neon purple lighter. “It’ll be just one.”

“It’s okay, Bev,” Eddie assured her. “And, you haven’t burned through any relationships.”

“Maybe not,” Beverly exhaled, tilting her head away from Eddie. “But I’ve already dated one Loser, I don’t really want to crash and burn with another.”

“You mean you and Bill?” Beverly nodded. “That lasted six months, Bev, and it just sort of fizzled out. That wasn’t burning.”

“I’m just,” she took a drag. “Not ready. We’re just so different. Two wrongs don’t make a right, y’know?”

“What’s the difference, then?” Eddie asked, ignoring the bile rising in his throat. “Between you two and us two?”

“You two were made for each other, Eddie,” Beverly grabbed for his hand. “When you two are together, it’s like the best thing in the world, and also the worst sometimes,” she giggled. “You’ve got this, this like,” she paused, using her hand to indicate that she was searching for the right word. “Like this _energy_. And that stuff is so rare.”

“Fuck off,” Eddie grumbled, though he did smile.

“I’m _serious_,” Beverly stressed the last word, squeezing Eddie’s hand. “He’s a fucking dumbass, though.”

“Tell me about it.”

“And you can be a little uptight.”

Eddie gasped, ripping his hand away from hers.

“And _dramatic_,” she added with a _look_. “But that’s not a bad thing. I’m still team Richie and Eddie forever.”

“Me too,” Eddie whispered, though he knew Beverly heard him when she nudged him with her shoulder.

“I’m going to give you my world-renowned advice,” Beverly spoke after a moment of silence. “You need to talk to him.”

“And say what?!” Eddie asked, eyebrows furrowing.

“Everything you just told me, duh,” Beverly said with a smile. “You’ve already admitted it once. It can’t be that difficult to say again.”

“I don’t know about that,” Eddie disagreed.

“Just think about it,” Beverly said. “You two are so similar and so different, it’s kind of amazing,” Beverly said. “And you’re also trying to make this all work in possibly the worst town on earth.”

“Okay, yeah,” Eddie nodded, biting at his bottom lip.

He knew she was right, and it wasn’t the first time he’d had that logic float through his mind. Richie was worth it to Eddie. No matter how difficult everything else was, their relationship was more important to Eddie. He had to remember that. He had to be more willing to share it, too.

Beverly smiled at him gently, and Eddie felt her compassion and affection wash over him just as it always did.

“Thanks, Bev,” Eddie murmured, knowing he could never fully thank her for everything that she was to him.

“Anytime, Eds,” she smiled, ruffling his hair again.

“Oh, and Bev,” Eddie lowered his voice, glancing around the parking lot. “Can I borrow some makeup?” He asked, pulling at the collar of the jacket to reveal his red and purple splotched neck.

Beverly’s eyes widened, a laugh tumbling from her lips.

“Holy fuck, Kaspbrak,” she gasped, still giggling. “You look like you’ve been mauled by an animal.”

“Something like that,” Eddie mumbled, and Beverly made a noise that kind of sounded like a squawking bird and a loud guffaw. But Eddie just smiled and shrugged, “I like them.”

X

Eddie plopped down to sit just outside the entrance to the Barrens at the top of a little hill they’d found many summers ago that Richie had affectionately named Little Tit. They were meant to all meet up and do homework that afternoon. Eddie wasn’t sure everyone would show up, but it seemed likely enough that others would eventually begin arriving. Eddie was often early, but it wasn’t a bad thing. He needed a moment to think somewhere that wasn’t his bedroom, Richie’s bedroom or the dark, musky Derry High building.

It was easy to lay back in the grass and close his eyes. The August afternoon sunrays kissed his skin, leaving him feeling warm and at peace. He’d applied two layers of sunscreen, so he could relax knowing that he would be safe from a sunburn. Or suntan. No matter how much Beverly, Richie and Bill insisted they were safe, Eddie knew the damage sunspots could cause. Richie said it wasn’t fair because Eddie always looked softly tanned. Eddie thought Richie was full of shit.

In just the five or so minutes Eddie had been waiting, his racing heart had settled down. His breathing was slower, his chest lighter. He wanted to bottle up the feeling for later.

With his arms behind his head, Eddie spread out his legs so as to feel the grass rub against his bare lower thighs, the skin not quite covered by his shorts. His mother had always insisted he had a grass allergy, and Eddie had spent years believing her. He’d carried blankets in his backpack, laying them out in Bill’s backyard when the Losers had late nights or by the side of the Quarry. Eddie felt that he’d missed so much. The feel of soft, tall grass against his skin was one of his favorite feelings. He liked the sticky feeling of grass stains against his knees, and the competitive excitement that came when he and Richie had grass throwing fights. Once, he and Bill had tried to braid strands of it into Richie’s hair, and Mike had attempted to teach him to whistle with a blade of grass. The Losers rolled down the hill often, knocking heads when someone rolled crookedly. All of those memories—those experiences—almost hadn’t happened. Which was terrifying. How much had almost been taken from him? How much had he already lost?

Because there were years full of lies and missed opportunities that his supposed illnesses had taken from him; climbing trees, fishing for tadpoles, sleeping out in Bill’s backyard. For every good memory he’d fought for, there were ten bad ones. The home he lived in that felt more like a jailcell, the fanny-packs he’d worn for half his life, the sickly-sweet taste of his pretend inhaler.

Just as it always did, those thoughts started his heart racing. It was all erratic beats and sudden chocking. He shot up into a sitting position, planting his hands flat against the earth. The dirt and grass and dandelion stems brushed against his fingertips. Eddie tried to listen to the sounds of birds chirping in the nests of the trees that surrounded him. He thought about Stan, and how he’d know the names of them. And Richie, who loved to make up new bird names just to rile Stan up. And the laughter of the other Losers that always followed.

Some things, Eddie thought gloomily, some things never changed. He didn’t want his anxiety to be another gatekeeper. But how could he stop that?

His heart fluttered, and his chest went soft. Because Richie would know. For all of his bravado and antics, Richie was the smartest person Eddie knew. He was quick on his feet, a problem solver. And he was somehow endlessly patient with Eddie.

Eddie wasn’t sure how much more time passed before he watched Bill and Mike approach, giggling to one another about a joke Eddie couldn’t hear. Mike’s smile was brilliant. Bill’s gentle. Their backpacks were slung over their shoulders, and when Mike looked up he waved over at Eddie. Eddie waved back, focusing on the feeling of centeredness he felt.

Even farther in the distance he spotted Richie and Stan. They were too far to see any details, and Eddie only knew it’s them because of Richie’s loud voice and outfit, and the way Stan holds himself. Richie was a whirlwind, but Eddie loved being swept up in it all.

And so Eddie made up his mind. Beverly and Bill and Ben were right; he needed to talk to Richie.

X

It was becoming a horrible routine that Eddie desperately wanted to break. Currently, they lay together on Richie’s bed, listening to a new mixtape Richie had put together; continuing to pretend that there wasn’t some sort of nervous and terrible energy between them.

Eddie half listened to a song he knew was by The Cure while rehearsing in his mind of all the things he needed to stay calm.

(_My mom thinks I’m spending the night at Ben’s house—she loves Mrs. Hanscom. Richie’s elbow is touching mine, so he can’t be that upset. Maggie and Went have already gone to bed. Tomorrow is Saturday—there are no tests to study for, no homework to complete--)_

“Doyouwanttobreakup?” Richie spoke so quickly and suddenly that Eddie could not distinguish one word from another. It all sounded like a large cacophony of sound, but the look on Richie’s face gave away that it must be important—whatever the fuck he was trying to convey.

“Um,” Eddie fumbled. “I have no idea what the fuck you just tried to say.”

Richie groaned, throwing his head back and rolling away from Eddie. Which couldn’t be a _good_ sign.

“Rich,” Eddie prodded, poking him with his toe.

“I said,” Richie groaned again but louder this time, the sound coming deep from his chest. “Do you want to break up?”

“What the fuck?!” Eddie’s heart stuttered as the words finally settled in. “Why the fuck would I want to break up?!”

Richie didn’t answer for a couple of moments, all of which were filled with Eddie’s heart hammering in his chest.

“Do _you_ want to break up?” Eddie finally asked, wondering if that might’ve been the root of the question. He didn’t want to think about it, though. He didn’t want to know how long Richie had felt that way, or if he’d regretted the entirety of their romantic relationship.

“_Fuck_, no!” Richie sat up so quickly, it nearly gave Eddie whiplash. His eyes were earnest, capturing Eddie’s gaze with passion. “Of course I fucking don’t!”

“Okay,” Eddie said, mostly because he had no idea what else to say. There was so much just on the tip of his tongue; things he both needed and wanted to say.

Eddie had to close his eyes and take a deep breath. He wanted to talk to Richie, hated the cavernous trench that he could feel between them. He knew he didn’t owe Richie anything, but he wanted to share this struggle with someone else. With Richie.

“I have to tell you something,” Eddie murmured, hating the way his voice wobbled.

“Anything, Eds,” Richie said, voice so vulnerable it was overwhelming.

“It’s hard to describe,” Eddie finally said. He took Richie’s hand into his own, because Richie was a warm comfort Eddie had come to rely on.

Richie didn’t say anything, just played with a hangnail and rubbed his thumb against the back of Eddie’s hand. It was a smooth and familiar touch, allowing Eddie the chance to breathe deeply and focus on the way it felt.

“Ben says it’s called anxiety,” Eddie started. “But I hate that word. Because it’s just another fucking sickness that I apparently have. It’s bullshit. But he’s right, I think.” Eddie had known it all along, despite not wanting to confront the truth of it. “Basically it’s this intense stress and worry about every fucking thing.”

“Okay,” Richie said, mimicking Eddie’s earlier inflection of the word. It sounded right for the situation.

“It’s fucked up.” Eddie grumbled, unsure if he should continue his rant.

“Yeah, it is.” Richie agreed solemnly.

“For me, it feels like there’s this live wire that runs just underneath my skin.” Eddie started again. “The powerhouse of it is in my chest, and when something happens it turns on, pumping all of this fucking energy to every part of my body. And then I’m just fucking buzzing and I can’t breathe and my thoughts are all jumbled and I explode.”

“Like fireworks,” Richie agreed. “Beautiful but a fucking spectacle.”

“I hate it,” Eddie grumbled. “I don’t want to be stressed over every fucking little thing.”

Eddie could tell that Richie didn’t know what to say. He was tugging at the skin on his bottom lip, eyes flittering across Eddie’s face. He had a nervous energy about him, nearly vibrating in his skin. Eddie could see it in the way he squeezed Eddie’s hand in his and reached up to swipe his thumb gently across the tops of Eddie’s cheek. He may not have known what to do, but he was trying.

Eddie felt lighter just talking about it. It was okay that Richie didn’t know what to say; Eddie didn’t either. He was positive there wasn’t some kind of magic phrase that could fix it anyway. There wasn’t much to say, Eddie thought.

“I just wanted you to know,” Eddie said after another minute or so. “It’s fucked up, I know.”

“Not more fucked up than normal,” Richie shrugged, before laughing. It was soft, almost like a tiny tinkering sound. “We’ve been through shittier.”

Eddie shuddered. “I try not to think about it.”

“It was like written in the stars or some shit,” Richie said, tittering airily again, “that we needed a more interesting story. Some Romeo and Juliet bullshit.”

Eddie didn’t mind the tender optimism that had enveloped the room, though he didn’t really feel like laughing. He didn’t really see the humor. Humor was a safety for Richie, Eddie knew. And Richie was right anyway; they’d already been through so much. There were the events of Summer 1989 and then years of pining. Followed by extreme closeting and admitting feelings and living in the shittiest town in America. Fucked up was kind of their normal. Anxiety was just another thing on the list.

“I’m sorry,” Eddie found himself saying. “For being so fucked up.” Richie clucked indignantly, yanking on Eddie’s hand until they met eyes.

“It’s no problemo, Eduardo. You don’t apologize for that kind of thing,” Richie smiled, big and bright. “You’re still you.”

“You think?” Eddie asked, wanting to believe Richie so badly.

Richie answered by poking Eddie’s body, first on his arms, then his thighs and hips, then up to his yellowed-hued healing hickeys. “I can confirm that you still feel like you, yeah.”

It was so ridiculous—so _Richie_—that Eddie couldn’t help but burst into his own delicate giggles. It was like someone had shaken a bottle of carbonated soda and opened it in his chest. The sweet sugar splattered against his ribcage, drenching his heart.

“Well thank god,” Eddie said between giggles, cupping a hand at his mouth. “Is that an official diagnosis from Dr. Tozier?”

“Hell yeah,” Richie nodded exaggeratedly, thumb gliding across Eddie’s collarbones. “But you may need a full body examination,” he waggled his eyebrows animatedly. Eddie could only smile.

“Yeah, maybe.” Eddie agreed, and stopped thinking; something he knew he needed to work on. He leaned forward until their lips collided, body shuffling until he was crawling into Richie’s lap. Richie tugged at his waist, pulling him ever closer. He wanted to be enveloped in his embrace, until he could only think about the current moment.

Eddie wasn’t foolish enough to believe that everything was solved or cured. But maybe it was enough to begin climbing whatever new mountain they stood at the base of. He wanted to try with Richie. Regardless of his anxiety or their secret relationship, Eddie felt certain of Richie’s presence in his life. He still had so much anguish singing in his chest, but Richie quieted it all.

He tried to tell Richie all of that with just a kiss. And the slow grind of his hardening cock against Richie’s. Richie’s answering groan and love-bliss expression was everything Eddie needed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not claim to be an expert on anxiety. I wrote from my own personal experiences dealing with it and how it affected my own teenage relationship and how it continues to affect that same relationship. Eddie’s right, it really does fuck shit up. And if you know what this hell feels like, please don't be afraid to seek personal or professional help. It only makes you braver.
> 
> If you have a moment, please take thirty or so seconds to let me know what you thought. Reviews are everything to me.
> 
> Hit me up on tumblr @eddiekaspbrak-lesbian . We can talk Reddie and the Losers Club and favorite Shark Puppy tracks.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I hope you liked this, and that you forgive me for the angst hidden and laced in each of these scenes. I was thinking about how anxiety and other forms of suffering—being gay in the early 1990s, growing up in a tiny town, abusive parents—affect not only us but those that we love. Additionally, being young and in love comes with its own set of challenges. It’s not easy to learn to open up and share emotions you don’t have words for.
> 
> These experiences seem to shape our relationships and how we relate within them. While Richie and Eddie are soulmates, whose love story is pure and passionate, it also isn’t perfect. Because people aren’t perfect. And I am deeply interested in how each of their weaknesses and shortcomings come together. So, this story was born! It will end happily next chapter! But love isn’t always straight forward and easy. But it is always worth it!


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